I'll Be Okay
by SALJStella
Summary: It's been a year since Saw 1. Neither Adam or Lawrence died, and some of their questions are left unanswered. When they meet again, interesting things can happen... If you know what I mean... AdamLawrence slash. Rated for language, drug use and mild gore.
1. Prologue: Would Never Lie To You

**A/N: This is a little like my last Saw-fic, but I'm the author and I can do that. I realize no one reads this stuff, but there's not enough AdamLawrence on this site, and there's never too late to turn the whole thing around. This is just the prologue, it's very short, the next chapter will be longer. Enjoy!**

**Prologue: Would Never Lie To You**

_- We're going to be all right?_

_His eyes. Wide. Crazy. They're so beautiful and blue, but they're all wide, shines from the pale face. _

_Crazy. He's gone crazy. _

_- I'd never lie to you. _

_Never… Would never lie to you. _

_Would never lie to you. _

_The doll. Knife. Flashes. _

_Hurt. Hurt so fucking bad. _

_Would never lie to you, Adam. Would never lie to you. _

_He's holding me. Lawrence holds me like I remember him, Lawrence with a scrape in his face and a blue, bloody shirt. _

_Lawrence that would never lie to me. _

_I'm in his arms, crying with fear. The doll is coming, his knife is raised and he'll kill me, but I don't care, because Lawrence is here and he would never lie to me. _

_Never, Adam._

_Never lie to you. _

These are the words that I whisper when I wake up, drenched in cold sweat and tangled in my sheets.


	2. Spinning Head

**A/N: I was feeling a little guilty for making the prologue so short, so I figured I'd update as soon as possible. Adam might be a little OOC, but I couldn't possible make him as wonderful as he is in the movie. Anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned "Saw", would Adam have died? Huh?! HUH?!!**

**1: Spinning Head**

There's got to be something wrong about me.

A year ago I was trapped in a stinky bathroom with a handsome guy. And a crazy orderly who wanted us to saw our feet of was watching us.

You knew all of this. But here's the punch line: I can't stop thinking about the guy I was trapped with.

I've could have gotten a job, a girlfriend, and apartment that's not hunted by a crazy clown doll. If not because of anything else, just because _fleeing from the memories, _that people always says when they want to move. Then they blame it on something horrible that happened.

But no, no. during this last year I've just gotten lazier. I barely take pictures of people anymore. I'm just sitting on my couch; drink bear until I throw up.

And I'm afraid. I'm afraid all the time.

Afraid that Jigsaw will come back. Because you can't really say I've stopped standing in the shadows, watching other people live their lives.

I haven't stopped being angry and pathetic.

Because I am. I'm pathetic. I'm pathetic, angry, afraid and I'm sitting on my ass all day, thinking about a guy that shot me.

I really should hate him.

Okay, I do. I hate him.

_No, you don't. _

Yes, I am.

_No._

Yes.

_No._

Yes.

_No._

Okay.

Oh, right: I've started talking to myself, too.

Oh, what the hell. So what if I'm talking to myself? Who else am I to talk to? I don't even have any feminist-vegan-girlfriends to talk to anymore.

Or Lawrence.

He _could _entertain me for seven hours. And he was handsome, too…

_STOP THINKING ABOUT LAWRENCE!_

Yup. Here we are again. I'm on my couch, my head is spinning because I'm already so drunk that it's stop being fun. And yet I'm holding a beer. You'd think I'd learn a little lesson from those hours in the bathroom, but no, no. Not me.

I've got that the point of Jigsaw's traps is that you should learn to appreciate your life. But still, no. not this guy.

Why am I blaming myself? If Jigsaw wants you to appreciate your life, can't he use some other methods?! If I've gotten it right, only one person have survived his sick life lessons, and I'm having trouble believing that she's doing a lot better than me.

She's probably at home, too. Scared, drunk, mad at everything.

It's probably the alcohol, but even though I've never seen this girl I get a clear mental image of her.

I can see her sitting on her couch. Watching "The Ice Storm" on Channel Five. Eating leftovers from a plastic jar. I can even see that she's eating chicken and potatoes. She has her feet on the coffee table and drinks juice out of the carton.

And she's hot. Really hot.

But then Lawrence slips into my mind.

_Crazy. He's gone crazy. _

I wonder how he's doing now, I think to myself, takes a sip from the beer and see my apartment floating around in my sight. I wonder how his marriage is doing.

_Right, _the voice in my head says. _Right. Call him and check it out. Call him and see of he's gotten a divorce. Call and propose to him. Call and check if he's thinking about you all of his free time. But you're forgetting something: He's different from you on the part that he has a life, so maybe he doesn't even have the _time _to think about unemployed losers. Call him and check that out. _

Fine, fine.

My headvoice. It's there for one reason: Make me feel even more useless than I actually am.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

I want to make one thing clear: I'm not in love with Lawrence.

He's handsome. I'm restless and unfucked since way back.

But just for fun, and for maybe a little more understanding from you, I'm going to tell you about my love life. From scratch.

1: Tracy Lemons. When I was four. A cute girl that kissed my cheek.

2: Mindy Larson. When I was twelve. I first relationship that lasted for two days.

3: Amanda Richie. When I was fourteen. My second relationship that lasted for six months.

4: Leslie Marks. When I was fifteen. My third relationship that actually lasted to college.

5: Six one-night stands during college.

6: Shirley Stevens. When I was twenty. We were together for five years, since she was always unhappy and constantly in the need of rebound sex.

7: Tammy Morgan. When I was twenty-six. She was a lot like Shirley, but she wasn't in desperate need of rebound sex, she just wanted sex. She was just as horny as me, so we actually lasted for two years.

8: Christen House. When I was twenty-nine. She was the feminist-vegan I told Lawrence about. She was beautiful, fun and all that, but then again, she dumped me because apparently I was too angry.

9: …

What am I supposed to say about number nine? Technically, it wasn't even a relationship! I can say this:

9: Lawrence Gordon. When I was thirty. He was trapped in a disgusting bathroom with me. We both found a tape in our pockets. We played them in tape recorder we found in the hand of a dead person. The voice in his tap said that his goal in the "game" was to kill me. We were in the bathroom for seven hours. I was sarcastic and horrified, he grit his teeth and stayed calm. He was the only one of us who… _Thought. _When his wife called and said that he'd failed he got what can only be called a temporary mental breakdown. He saw his foot off and shot me. He probably thought I died, and I did, too. But I woke up just in the nick of time. A guy had came in and he tried to kill Lawrence. So I beat him to death. When I had, and Lawrence had started to crawl towards the door, the dead man in the middle pf the room woke up. And guess why? It wasn't a dead guy, it was a living Jigsaw.

That's my relationship with Lawrence in a very, very short form.

But anyway, that picture of Lawrence is the one that I really remember.

That really tortures me.

_It's too much._

_I can see it in his face; I can see how his moral and his awareness snaps. _

_I can see how his eyes are still wide, crazy, but in the meantime, plagued._

_But I can also see that none of the pain is the result of what he does next. _

_I can tell that none of the pain has come from Jigsaw's gasping, come from Lawrence's fingers around his neck. _

And then the police came, dragged the body away, brought Lawrence and me to the hospital.

Lawrence and me was separated with an awkward tap on the shoulder.

And I've been thinking about him ever since. Never stopped. Never thought about anything else.

Or someone else.

But I'm _not _in love with him. And I really, really don't want to be. I've always feared love.

Even thought I don't know a lot about it, I'm slightly convinced that it always end with tears.

No. I don't want to fall in love. But I want to know what love is. I should've asked Lawrence when I was locked up with him.

What it is. What it feels like.

Okay, I don't read a lot of love stories. Or watch movies like that. Out of the ones I've seen and read I think I can say with at least a little certainty that it's like… like the head is spinning. Like you're floating a little over the ground.

I guess that's how it _should've _felt when I was together with those other girls.

I take a sip of the beer and tries my theory out.

_Shirley, _I think.

No. Nothing. I think about her chest, how she used to moan, how she tasted of black lipstick and warm, sweet saliva. But I don't float.

_Christen, _I think.

No floating. Nothing.

_Lawrence, _I think.

It's just the alcohol. Just the alcohol. Obviously.

But my head is spinning, spinning and spinning until I have to turn of the TV and put all my focus in breathing normally.

**Loved it? Hated it? Please review!**


	3. The Appearance

**A/N: Hello, my darlings. Here's the next chapter. And, as an excuse for writing two chapters when almost nothing happened, this one actually has a minor event. Hope you enjoy it!**

**2: The appearance**

_Lawrence._

I try to taste the word. Try to get full on him.

_Lawrence. Laaaaaaaaawreeeeeeeeence. _

My head is still spinning. Maybe it's because I'm thinking his name. Maybe Lawrence is actually a drug, dressed up as a person.

I giggle when I'm picturing Lawrence as dust. Picturing how a pale, skinny drug addict inhales him.

_Lawrence. Lavirense. _

Now I'm giggling again. Lavirense. It sounds funny.

_Or _I'm giggling because I'm so drunk I'd laugh at a lecture about erosion theories. The empty bottles are lined up in front of me. The nauseous becomes compact and finds its way up my throat.

I swallow.

_Not throw up. Please._

But I do anyway, and I have to run to the bathroom, covering my mouth with my hand.

I hoped that I would throw up Lawrence, when apparently I can't get full on him. But nothing comes up except for all the beers and the pizza I had for lunch.

I'll never get rid of Lawrence. Lawrence lives in me now.

I lean my head against the toilet. Tiny tears start prickling in my eyes, but I quickly blink them away.

_Lawrence… Damn it, Lawrence, see what you made me do!_

Yeah. I'm crying. It doesn't matter how much I blink, the tears won't go away.

It's the exact opposite. Every time I blink they seem to get bigger, heavier. More.

I haven't cried for a year.

The last time I cried I hadn't cried for fifteen years. That time it was because of Lawrence, too.

Fucking, goddamn Lawrence.

_Damn you, Lawrence. See who you made me to, see what you made me do?!_

The alcohol doesn't seem to help at all. Ever since I started to drink, it looks like the despair have gotten bigger, deeper by the second.

I get up on wobbly knees. "Despair". Touché, Lawrence. You've got me saying "despair", too.

It's just one second of doubt.

I've been clean for almost a year.

But you always have a couple of last cigarettes left. And why is that?

It's because you didn't want to quit.

I go to the kitchen. Open one of the lockers and rummage around in the back until I find the small box.

That box has always, in a weird way, been a little holy for me. My hands always tremble when I pick it out. And I never do that except for when there's no way out.

The box is black. And as I've already said, my hands tremble slightly when I open it.

There's two marijuana cigarettes in it.

I've been smoking them for a while. From time to time. In those times when I'm drowning in hopelessness, when my life goes black.

I pick one of them up, light it, inhale deeply and keep the smoke in my lungs for so long that it's almost nothing left to exhale.

One puff is enough, my apartment already spins around a little too much. The nauseous rises up in me again, but I inhale the smoke again, in an almost desperate way.

God. Have I always been on the floor?

_No, _the headvoice says. _You haven't. You stood up a couple of seconds ago, but you've fallen down on the floor because you're drunk and stoned and pathetic. _

I roll over on my back.

Oh well. Apparently I'm lying on my dirty kitchen floor. I wonder how I got here.

I start to giggle again. I have absolutely no idea why, everything's horrible, really. But I keep giggling, I giggle until the giggling turn in to laughter that gets louder and louder.

It always ends up this way. I know that, but when I wake up the morning after, I never remember it.

This is how it happens. I fall down on the floor. I giggle. The giggling turns into laughter, that turns into louder laughter, that turns into screaming that eventually fades out.

And then I start to cry.

When I've giggled and laughed and screamed I always lay on my kitchen floor, rolled up into a ball and cry until I'm shaking.

That's how it happens. Always. But this time is different from the others in one way: This time I'm crying because I'm imagining Lawrence.

I'm imagining Lawrence, pale and tired, wearing a hospital gown. I'm imagining him in an uncomfortable hospital bed with an IV-drip connected to his arm.

_We've been quiet for a while. _

_A longer while than when we were quiet when we were locked up. We came here three hours ago, and none of us have said a word since. _

_It's not that I don't want to talk to him. I'm still stuck on my first impression of him. I'm stuck on the thought that he's my only hope. That he'll come up with a brilliant solution that'll save us. _

_It's not that I don't want to. It's that I don't have the energy. I don't have the energy for anything. All the sudden, everything's so very trying. _

_Sorrow is heavy. Angst is heavy. It crushes you down; drain you of power until nothing is left._

_No, I haven't read that somewhere. I don't know how I came up with it, though. _

_His family has been here. _

_His happy family. His beautiful daughter and his beautiful wife._

_They showed up about an hour ago. Crying, hugging. His wife said hi to me. _

_- You're Adam, right? She said, drawing her hand over her eyes._

_I nodded. I didn't have the energy to talk to anyone then, either. _

_- Adam, she sobbed and put her hand on my shoulder. Thank you… Than you for taking care of Larry. _

_Then I had to say something. _

_- Don't give me too much credit, I mumbled. He came up with everything. He was awesome. I spent most of my time sitting in the corner, being sarcastic. _

_She smiled. But her eyes remained sad. And she didn't spoke to me after that. _

_But now, Lawrence is in the hospital bed next o me. He got a morphine shot for the pain earlier. The oozing, bleeding wound that once was his foot has been sewn shut. He looks like he's falling asleep, and I am, too. Because I'm so terribly tired. I'm so fucking tired I'm almost crying. _

_And now, Lawrence says something. Very quietly and very slowly, but he says something. _

_- Adam, he says._

_- Hm? I mumble. _

_- My wife was right. _

_I grin lazily._

_- She was right?_

_- Yeah. _

_Pause._

_- Thank you for taking care of me. _

_I giggle. _

_- I didn't take care of shit. You did everything, remember? _

_The room spins around in front of me. I've gotten a shot, too, for my bullet wound. I'll fall asleep any second now. _

_But Lawrence just says the same thing again. _

_- Thank you for taking care of me. _

_I don't get why he keep saying that. And I don't even answer; I just let his words become a blanket that I wrap around me, warms all the way into the sleep. _

My God.

I have to get out of this apartment. It's too small, I can't breath in here.

I grab my shoes, which are about in the same place my shoulder is, put them on and get up.

Okay. The apartment spins a little, but it's okay. I'm okay. I'm in control.

When I've almost made myself believe that, I grab my jacket and walk out the door.

xxxxxxxxxxx

I like this bar.

You know why? It's full of losers. No one here's happy. Or successful. They're all like me, they all want to gain more from their lives, but they never do. And they know that.

I look at a guy with a mustache that sits on the barstool next to me.

I wonder how he got here. I wonder if he's sitting around all day, thinking about a handsome, rich doctor. If he hates himself for actually being with the doctor for seven hours, but didn't have the guts to be anything but sarcastic.

I gulp down another shot glass. There are already three of them lined up in front of me.

_Lawrence, _I think. _If Lawrence were here. _

_If Lawrence were here he'd crawl up to me. He'd put his hand on my cheek and tell me that I'd be okay; I had just wounded my shoulder. _

_He'd save me. Give me redress. _

_Damn it, Adam, _the headvoice says. _How many times will I have to say this? Lawrence. Is. Not. Here. He's not here and he'll never be here again. _

Okay. Sure.

I raise my hand to order another drink.

- You shouldn't drink, a man's voice says behind me.

- Shut up, I mumble.

I don't even look on whoever's saying it. I just take the shot glass and empty it in my mouth.

The person behind me laughs. It annoys me. I don't like when people don't take my sarcasm seriously.

- What the fuck are you laughing at? I hiss, still not looking at Whoever-it-is.

- Nothing, the voice says. I just think it's funny that it's been a year, and you're just as sarcastic as I remember you.

That's how long it takes for me to get it.

Any person with a normal amount of intelligence would recognize a voice they've been thinking about every day for the past year a little faster. But, in my defense, I'm drunk and stoned.

But now, I'm actually getting it. And then my blood gets superheated and I get hot all over.

I spin around.

That smile. The scrape is gone, obviously. And he has an artificial leg. But he's just as goddamn handsome as I remember him.

I know I'm supposed to say something, but I stay quiet. Partly because I'm surprised, partly because I know that if say something, my voice would crack.

Lawrence.

It's Lawrence.

**See the cute little blue button just below? Pleeeeeeease review, those sweet little e-mails I get from time to time really brightens my day. Plus, I just wanted to say that this chapter is a small homage to nicoleb. She gave me some nice reviews, and she said she wanted Lawrence to appear soon. So I thought What the hell, I miss him, too, so here he is.**


	4. Dreaming Of You

**A/N: Hi guys! ****I'm sorry for the long update, but I have so many stories in progress I can't update anyone of them as often as I want to. This chapter turned out to be the longest one so far, and it's written a little song-fic style. Hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: Surprisingly, I still don't own Saw. Or Dreaming of you. Or The ice storm. **

**3: Dreaming Of You**

Oh my god.

My blood still refuses to act normally.

Oh my god.

_Oh. My. God. _

He's really standing in front of me. He's standing there, with his head held high and his sensible, yet excited, calm-doctor-smile. I remember him as pale and ragged, tired and panicking, but he's all handsome and well built and newly showered.

_Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my…_

His relaxed smile turns into a laugh.

- Are you hypnotized, Adam?

I try to smile back, but it turns out as a face that makes me look like The Joker.

And all the sudden, everything gets so damn embarrassing.

He's standing there. He's a doctor.

He's a doctor, he's handsome, he doesn't belong in a damp, smoky bar that's full of unsuccessful idiots!

But I do. I'm sitting here, I'm drunk, I'm stoned, I'm wearing a washed-down, white t-shirt and jeans, my face is literally sparkling red and I know everything I'm ashamed of is written all over my face.

I can't stay here. I can't talk to him.

I'm too much of a chicken. And too useless. I'm not in the same level as the handsome, relaxed, rich doctor in front if me.

I grab my jacket, get up and walk past him.

_Coward, _the headvoice says.

For once, I have to agree with it.

I'm sorry, Lawrence, I think. But this is all I can do. Anything else is impossible. I can't do it. I'm a wuss, I'm not strong, I'm not like you!

But stop me.

Don't let me go. Please.

Lawrence almost seems to hear me. Because the next second someone grabs my shoulder, someone spins me around and pulls me into a pretty violent hug.

I gasp in surprise when Lawrence's arms push me against him. And all I can think is one thing:

This is the greatest.

To stand here, pressed up against Lawrence, feel the muscles in his arms moving against my back, inhaling his smell of antibiotics, hospital and cologne, how this smell makes my head spin more than beer and drugs ever had.

This. This very moment.

That's the greatest.

- Trying to run away from me? Lawrence mumbles into my ear. Think I'll let you go? Are you an idiot, Adam?

I blush. His voice forces me back into the real world, and I have to struggle out of his arms.

- Stop it, I mutter and put my jacket on. I'm not sure how healthy it is for two guys to hug in a bar.

Lawrence smiles, suddenly ashamed.

- You got a point.

And my head was spinning just from thinking of him. Now, when I've lived in his world of antibiotics, hospital and cologne for a few, wonderful seconds, my head is spinning so fast that it should fall of and roll over the floor of the bar.

God. It was weird that I said "despair", but now I'm really on a slippery slope.

He turns me into someone else, and I hate him for it.

We're quiet for a couple of seconds. He seems to be checking me out, and I feel like walking away again.

He makes me feel useless. And in the same time, he's filling me with the false knowledge that I can accomplish anything. How the hell does he do that?!

- Well… I say, fumbling for something reasonable to say. How… Have you been?

Lawrence's smile gets wider when he notices my teenage-ish uncertainty.

- I know I'm supposed to say that I've been fine, but to be honest, my life is a living hell, and that's how it's been for a while. What about you?

I get slightly more relaxed. Okay. Now I just have to feel like a freak show a little bit.

- I've also been like crap, I say and try not to stumble over the words. But… Today I saw "The Ice Storm" for the sixth time. Then I was a little happier, because it's one hell of a movie.

That's a big fat lie. But I don't feel like confessing that my only comfort is drugs and alcohol, because I can't really imagine Lawrence solving his problems in the same way I do.

The question is asked before I can stop it. But that's probably because I've been wanting to ask him for god-knows-how-long.

- You want to come back to my place? I ask, silently hating myself. Then I can get you drunk, so this doesn't have to be awkward.

Lawrence giggles.

- Are you going to take advantage of a drunken girl, Adam? I didn't think you had sunken that low.

_Are you going to do that, Adam? _The headvoice asks coldly.

I blush again.

- Come on. I'm nervous enough about what you're going to answer.

Lawrence smiles.

- You don't have to be. I say yes, you should get that.

- In my defense, I'm drunk, I say and grab him by the arm _(I grab him by the arm!) _and pulls him out the door.

xxxxxxxxxxx

I can't get it.

I'm here. On my couch. So far, so good. That's how it usually is.

But Lawrence is next to me.

Lawrence Gordon.

He's holding a beer. He's laughing and he's pretty drunk. And he actually seems to have _fun _in my pathetic company!

He's been here for a couple of hours. We've watched TV, drunken beer and talked. When he got drunk, too, it wasn't hard at all anymore. After just one beer, the talk was pouring.

- Lawrence, I say and take a sip of the beer, even though it's not even good anymore. How is it between you and… Your wife, I'm sorry, I can't remember her name.

That's great. I've been thinking about this guy for a year, and now I have the nerves to ask him about his wife.

- Alison, Lawrence says. It's… Not going too well. She says I'm away too much, I say I'm a doctor and I do what I have to do, we start to fight and Diana hears us… I've started to cover shifts so I can be away from home more often, and honestly my life have sucked ever since I got out of that goddamn bathroom.

All the sudden, he stops talking, and starts to stare at his bottle of beer. He seems to be ashamed of showing me so much of his inner self, as cliché as that may sound. And I just want to cry for him, put my arms around him, rock him back and forth like a baby, comfort him…

What's he doing to me? Why have I turned so goddamn emotional?

_Because you're in love, Adam, _the headvoice says, but I don't listen. Don't want to listen.

- Can I ask you something? I say. You know Jigsaw's traps are meant to make you appreciate life, but… I'd say my life sucks more than ever since I got out of there. What about you?

Lawrence nods.

- I'm the same, actually. All the time I'm afraid Jigsaw's going to come back, I'm afraid Alison's going to leave me…

He's been looking at his bottle of beer ever since I asked him that. But now, all the sudden, he lifts his eyes and lays them on me.

And when our eyes lock, a song that my ex-girlfriend played all the time, starts to play in my head.

_It's up in my heart when it skips a beat…_

My heart actually skips a beat. I've never got what people mean when they say that, the heart beats regular for all the healthy people!

But now, my heart does. It freezes in my chest, just for a second, when Lawrence's blue eyes bore into mine.

And he's already approaching me. He's already moving forward on the couch.

_Can't feel no pavement right under my feet… _

The couch disappears from under me. The only things that exist are Lawrence, his eyes, his hand on my shoulder…

_Up in my lonely room, when I'm dreaming of you…_

It's the alcohol. It has to be the alcohol.

But the kiss comes, fast, pretty violently, maybe not too good, but neither one of us were prepared.

But why can take it in slow motion anyway.

His hand grabs my neck. He's in control. I feel helpless.

Then his face is pressed against mine, his lips are hard and soft at the same time, his tongue is whirling around in my mouth, he tastes like beer, he tastes like forbidden and so terribly wrong, his hand has gripped my hair, my teeth are scratching his bottom lip, drawing blood, and it's not a very good kiss, but it's the best I've ever gotten, the best ever.

It could have lasted for a few seconds. Or minutes. Or a day. Why the hell would I know?

But then he pulls back, just a little bit. I can feel his breath tasting beer in my mouth. His hand lets go of my hair.

Now he pulls away far enough for me to see his face. He looks… Confused. Confused and pissed off. And he gets up.

No.

Please God, no.

- Lawrence, I say I a disgustingly pleading intonation.

But he still goes away before I can grab him. Keep him here. With me.

_Oh, what can I do…_

The door shuts. I put my head in my hands. I've never felt so unbelievably, _overwhelmingly _alone before.

_I still need you, but I don't want you now… _

That's not true.

I need Lawrence. It's not until now I really understand how serious I was that time in the bathroom, when Lawrence what electrocuted and I though he was dead.

"_Lawrence, get up! I need you!"_

Yeah. I need Lawrence.

But I want him, too. So badly that it hurts.

_I still need you, but I still want you now… _

**Liked it? Reviews make me happy, especially when they're nice…**


	5. Not Enough

**A/N: YAY! I'm finally back! I've been writing "Pirates of the Caribbean" for the whole week, and I've missed this baby! I love Sparrabeth, but some good old-fashioned slash is just as fun, and hopefully my beloved readers will agree. Let me know what you think!**

**A/N#2: I just wanted to tell you that my hotmail is currently fucked up, so if you send me reviews, I won't be able to read them for a while. So if I don't reply, that's why. Sorry. **

**4: Not Enough**

My hands are so sweaty that I almost drop the phone. I'm going to call Lawrence, I _have _tocall Lawrence, but first I have to make this call. There's nothing more important to me right now.

Except for the kiss, maybe.

The fumbling, violent kiss. The best I've gotten. Just an hour ago. I don't know where Lawrence lives; maybe he hasn't even got home yet. But maybe he'll get the time he needs while I make this call.

I lift my hand to dial, but stop. Or, maybe _hesitate _is the better way to put it.

God. The number's probably the same, I highly doubt she'd move, so I should remember it. But my brain totally freezes.

My forefinger slowly presses the six-button.

Right. Six… Seven… Three… Nine… Nine… O… Five.

That's her number. I'm pretty sure of that. But now it's calling, so there's really no turning back.

She answers after just one signal. I understand her. She can't be doing much these days.

- Hello?

- Hi. It's me.

She's silent.

- Adam, I clarify.

The silent actually seems to grow. She hasn't hung up, I can still hear her, but she doesn't say anything. I know she recognizes my voice. Or, she probably remembers my name. I hope. She's my mother, after all.

- Adam, she says slowly.

- Yeah.

- Okay. Hi.

- Hi.

Oh my god. I don't think I've ever been involved in a more uncomfortable silence.

- Mom, I won't keep you long.

From doing nothing, I add in my head, but I don't say anything.

- Just answer one question.

A sigh. But she still doesn't hang up.

- Why did you call, Adam? Is there no one else to answer this question of yours?

- You don't have to get angry before you've heard the question, I say calmly. When I've asked the question, I've actually aimed myself to you being angry, so you might as well save it until I'm prepared.

She giggles tiredly.

- Damn kid. As witty as your brother.

- I'm going to take that as a compliment, I say honestly.

Another giggle. The conversation isn't as awkward anymore.

- Okay, okay, mom says then. Now, what's that question?

I inhale deeply. I'm her son, especially I should be careful about asking this. But I need an opening line.

- Mom, I say slowly. Were you… You were… In love with… Dad, right?

Silence.

Dreadful, disappointed, sad silence.

_Nice move, dumb ass, _the headvoice says.

Once again, I choose not to listen to it.

- Adam… Mom starts to sputter.

- Mom, please, I interrupt, pleading. Just say yes or no.

She doesn't answer. But I swear I hear I muffled whimper. Hell, have I made her cry?

- Yes, she croaks out after a while. You should know.

Yeah. I've definitely made her cry, now when she has finally gotten over him. Damn it!

- Now, can I hang up? She asks, sobbing.

That's a first. I honestly can't remember mom ever asked anyone of permission to do anything.

- No, I say, hating myself when I hear her whimpers. That was just the opening question. What I really wonder is how it feels to be in love.

She takes a deep breath. Now she seems to have decided to pull together.

- It's a fucking hell, she says. Okay?!

Her voice is a hard whisper. And I'm not pleased with her answer, because I know she's lying.

- No, I say. It's not okay. Me and Jer might've been a hell, but… What's it like to be in love before your husband dies in a car accident?

Now, she's not crying. Now she's pissed. And that's my fault.

- Yeah, she hisses. Before your husband dies, and your sons are such a damn pain, love is the best thing that can happen to you. There's your answer. When you and Jerry were fifteen and seventeen, you were never home and Jerry was out mugging old ladies, and when I was sitting and thinking I was the worst mother on the planet, your dad came and picked my spirits up! That's what it's like to be in love. Are you happy now?!

When I left home, I promised that I was never going to let anything that my mom said hurt me again. But now I have to break my promise, because every word she says is a tiny needle that bores into my heart.

- Why do you even ask? She asks huskily. Do you think your in love, or what?!

I sigh and put my hand over my eyes.

- I'm not sure yet.

Mom snuffles.

- Best wishes, then.

Click.

Oh well. You have to guess that was the last thing I'll ever hear from my mom.

But I have one more person I have to call. And I have that number in my head, no matter how much I hate myself for it. Because it was just a year since I tried to make myself forget it.

It takes a little longer before she answers. And when she does, she actually sounds happy.

Her voice is just as raspy as I remember it. She smokes more than I do.

- Hello?

- Hi, Christen, I say, already exhausted.

Just hearing her voice makes me want to break something.

- It's Adam.

She has fast reactions. The phone crackles from her sigh before I have time to finish the sentence.

- Adam, didn't I tell you not to call?

- You did, I say coldly. It's almost a shame that I rarely give a crap about anything you say.

An angry silence.

Honestly, I don't care if I make her angry. It's not the same with her that it was with mom; mom actually means something to me. But I'm still mad at Christen. I almost hate her.

Oh, right. She cannot, under any circumstances, hang up, because then I'll probably never get a grip on her again. So I better make a _little _nice.

- I'm sorry, I say and silently bite the head of the phone. I just want you to answer one… _two _questions, and then you'll get rid of me. But if you don't answer them, I'll stalk you until you do. So why don't you just save some time for the both of us and listen to me now.

I can hear her considering. Whatever that sounds like.

- Okay, she says.

Now I can hear the sound of a lighter when she picks up a cigarette.

- Ask your question, and I'll answer.

Okay. Time to be a man, because this can easily be harder than talking to mom.

- Question number one, I say. Were you I love with me? Any time at all?

She inhales the smoke. Her answer comes in one single breath.

- Yes, I was. Question number two?

- What was that like?

She laughs.

- To be in love with you? It's not something I look back at smiling, if that's what you're wondering.

Ladies and gentlemen, put you hands together for Christen House that just told the most evil honesty in the history of the world!

I hate her.

- That's not what I meant, I say, almost calmly. I wonder how it feels, in general, to be in love. And don't be mean, just be honest.

She draws another puff.

- Okay, she says. It feels… Nice. Even if your mad at the one you're in love with, you love them. Even if they yell at you or hit you or anything… You still feel all warm when you look at them. Anything else you wish to know?

- No, I say while I feel the heart sink in my chest. No, nothing else. Bye.

- Bye, Adam.

I hang up.

Damn it.

Fucking, goddamn damn.

I lean forward and put my head in my hands, just like I did an hour ago, but straighten up quickly.

Okay. One more call before I start wallowing in self pity.

One single call.

Or maybe he has a secret number. Maybe I can't reach him. His wife might be answering. So I might as well not call.

_NO! _

The headvoice draws through my head, sharp and shrieking, screaming so high that it forces me to cover my ears with my hands to shut out a voice that doesn't exist.

_You _will _call, _it says firmly. _If you do anything else, you will regret it for the rest of your life. You know that. _

I know that. Yes.

So I warm up by calling Information.

- Hello? A voice says.

- Hi, I answer. Could you give me the number to a doctor Lawrence Gordon?

- Yeah, hang on…

I can hear her searching on a computer.

- Yeah, I got the number right here. It's 778 0906.

Then I realize that I, in my brilliance, have forgot to get a notebook to write the number on. So when I've found a pen I stand perplexed for a few seconds before I write it down on the wooden table the phone stands on.

- Thank you, I say and hang up.

Oh my god. Damn it the hell, I can't believe I'm doing this.

But I dial the number, slowly and methodical, and listen to the signal with a loudly thumping heart.

But when I hear his voice, I feel calm in an odd way. I don't know why. But all the sudden I understand that all I can do I hope for the best, hope that he's understanding. Trust myself.

- Hello?

- Hi.

You don't have to be an expert in people to know that he, just like Christen, recognizes my voice. The silence that pours out of the phone like icy water can't be mistaken.

- Adam.

It sounds like a statement.

- Yeah. It's me. Are you alone?

- Yeah.

He sounds like a robot.

- Lawrence, I'm going to be straight. I hope that… you can forget… That…

But there, I stop in my tracks. I can't say the word "kiss", it gets stuck in my throat.

- And how do you think I'm supposed to do that?

Cold voice.

- The hell would I know. But since I'm stupid, my hopes are still up.

He either sighs or laughs. I can't quite hear which.

- Yeah, you are. You're really fucking stupid, Adam.

- Yeah. Very stupid. But… I don't know why I did it.

Why the hell would I say that?! _He _kissed _me! _

- I just wanted you to know, I continue, that I'd love to be your friend. But nothing else.

Now I'm sure he's laughing.

- Adam, he says. Now you're lying.

Yes.

I've just got it confirmed from two people and a whole lot of books and movies.

When it comes to this, I lie to myself and to others.

I'm in love with Lawrence.

I'm madly, flashing, sparklingly in love.

I love Lawrence, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

- Yes, I do, I agree and I have to laugh with him, even though a few single tears falls down on the phone table. I'm lying my ass of, and for that I hope you can forgive me. But I want… Us to be friends.

He doesn't answer. Not right away. But I can hear him breathing, and I think that it's not enough.

I love to sit here. To cry silently and listen to his respiration. But it's not enough. He has to be closer.

_My god, you sound gay! _The headvoice says, amused. _If you'd just say that a little sooner, Christen never would have dumped you. She loved gays, remember?_

- I want us to be friends, too, Lawrence says after a minor eternity, and I can almost hold in a sob of relief.

Jesus, Lawrence. You've gotten me weeping once a day, and you've gotten me to say "despair". This is insane.

- Good, I say slowly. Can I… Call you? Sometime?

I can't see him, but I know he's smiling.

- Of course you can. Anytime.

- Okay. Good.

Pause.

- Bye.

- Bye.

I hang up. Then I slide down from the chair, sit on the floor and cry until I run out of tears.

This is a nightmare.

And now, I'll never get away from it.

**Whoa, this was a long one! What will happen this tale of two cuties? Review, and I'll tell you! **


	6. Black And Red

**A/N: Hi, ****beloved readers! Here's the next chapter of our unhappy lovers, and… If you want to see it that way, it's a serial of drabbles. And if you want to see it in an other way, it's a serial of flashbacks. And it turned out very angsty. And thanks to all my lovely reviewers! Review this one, too, and I'll update as soon as I can!**

**5: Black And Red**

When you're sitting on a bathroom floor.

When the light ball is flashing, when you see everything in sudden bursts of light.

When you press your thumb against your pulse, when you can feel your life throb under the skin.

When the razorblade you're holding flashes along with the light.

Sorrow. Heavy tears drops down on your wrist, but you stay calm, you don't let a single sob up your throat.

When you're thinking that you want to die with dignity.

Then you have to ask yourself how you got here.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"_What's your name?"_

"_My name is 'Very Fucking Confused'! What's your name?"_

_The chain is cold, my wrist starts to burn when I try to get it off. _

"_Lawrence Gordon. I'm a doctor."_

_I don't look at him. But I've glanced at him, I know he looks good. It's an immediate realization. _

xxxxxxxxxxx

"_How do I know you're telling the truth? You could be the one who put me here!"_

_He turns to me. I can tell he's used to dealing with freaked-out people and tries to be patient. But there's a tiny, annoyed wrinkle above his eyes. _

"_I'm in the exact. Same. Situation. You're in."_

xxxxxxxxxxx

"_So… I guess this is goodbye."_

_Yeah. It is. Definitely. _

_I'll never see him again. He saved my life, and I'll never see him again. _

_I want to ask for his number. I want to hug him. But it just comes out as a tap on the shoulder._

xxxxxxxxxxx

"_Come on, it's not that pathetic!"_

"_Yes it is! It's the ultimate sadness, to sit there and eat alone!"_

_I have to smile sleepy. _

_We hadn't made this if it wasn't for him. Pushing things away hasn't ever been a very good thing to do, but right now I love him for doing it. _

_I've never been that good at pretending that something didn't happen. But Lawrence is so convincing in his role that I almost start to wonder if that kiss ever happened. _

_We'll probably be able to be friends. Talking to him isn't awkward anymore, at least. It sort of flows. _

"_Anyway, I need someone to have lunch with. Please, please, pretty please, Adam…"_

"_Whatever. I guess I can have lunch with you, if it's so sad to eat a pasta salad without company. What about 27&7 in a half hour?"_

"_I'll be there. And damn you if you don't show up just because I woke you before two A.M!"_

_I hang up. _

_I'm not sure if Lawrence and I are friends. But no matter what we are, we're definitely something more than what we pretend to be. _

xxxxxxxxxxx

"_Relationship troubles? I thought she was the lucky wife!"_

_Lawrence smiles sadly, he looks so good when he's smiling! _

"_I thought so, too, actually. But it just gets worse and worse. She tries to make me go to couples therapy!" _

"_Man. I guess you doesn't come with her with a smile on your face?"_

_He puts a piece of chicken in his mouth and points at me with his fork. _

"_No, I don't come with her at all. I'm covering so many shifts on the hospital now, I'm almost the only doctor working! _

_I put my hand over my mouth to keep from spitting salad at him when I'm laughing. Lawrence slaps me across the side of my head. _

"_Don't scoff at my misery! Then Jigsaw will come for you!"_

"_Oh Lawrence, stop it, you're scaring me", I say sarcastically. "That sound like a ghost story you can tell your daughter. 'Eat your vegetables, Diana, or the bad man will come for you!'"_

xxxxxxxxxxx

"_Are you going to talk to me at all?"_

_His fist is resting against his lips. He's sitting on my couch and he's pale, he's so pale!_

"_Lawrence?"_

_He looks at me. His eyes aren't wide and crazy, like they were that awful, awful day in the bathroom. But they're just as terrible to look into as they were then. _

"_Diana."_

_I almost startle. I had lost my hope that he would say anything by now. _

"_She heard me and Allison fight."_

_I wait for the horrible part. Of course it can't be fun if your daughter catches you fighting with your wife, but I know she's done that before. It shouldn't make him this upset._

"_And she ran away. She's gone. I don't know where she is."_

_And then, everything falls apart. He throws his head into his hands and cries, he cries loudly, he cries so hard his shoulders are shaking. _

xxxxxxxxxxx

_He hangs up the phone and turns to me. _

"_She's at her grandmother's."_

_I have to smile before he pulls me into a tight hug. _

_I'm probably as happy as he is. It's been awful to see him fir the past few hours. _

xxxxxxxxxxx

_I must've forgotten to lock the door. _

_How else would he get in here?_

_I can hear him walk up to my bed. If it had been any other night that would have made me terrified, I happen to be afraid of the dark since I got out from the bathroom. _

_But somehow, I know it's him. So I don't say anything, I just feel how he lifts up the blanket and lays down next to me. _

_He cuddles up against my back and puts an arm around my waist. I move as close to him as I can. Breathe in his smell, breathe with him. Neither one of us say a thing. _

xxxxxxxxxxx

"_What're you doing here?"_

_He doesn't answer. His face is clenched and his blue eyes have gone black. He almost looks angry. _

_But his voice is kind. Intense and dark, but kind. _

"_May I come in?"_

"_Sure", I say. _

_I close the door behind him. _

_And I barely have time to turn around before I feel his lips upon mine. _

_He has a steady grip on my shoulders, it's almost painful, but I don't pull back. Because all the sudden, so much want explodes inside of me, from the feet up, like a fire. _

_Want. _

_Want you._

_It's pretty obvious that I'm not the only one to think like that. We spin around, entwined, like in a dance, against the bedroom. And we tear each other's clothes, almost violently. _

xxxxxxxxxxx

_He's panting. I lay my head on his chest, listen to his heartbeats. His blond hair is damp with sweat._

xxxxxxxxxxx

_His short, angry movements wake me up. _

_He's sitting on the edge of my bed. He pulls on his shirt with almost spasm-like hands. And I can see the expression on his face, even though he's turned away from me. _

"_Lawrence."_

_No response. _

"_Lawrence."_

"_I can't talk right now. I'm already late to my hospital."_

_His voice is so…Rejecting. I try to put my hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off. I sigh._

"_Lawrence, what's the matter?"_

_His patient snaps and he jumps to his feet. Now his eyes are black again. _

"_What the hell do you think is the matter?!" He shouts. "I. Have. A wife. I. Have. A kid. I had a fucking perfect life, and now you've messed it all up!"_

_And with those words, he turns around and starts to put his pants on. I sit up in bed. My anger starts to wake up, too. _

"_So you're saying this is my fault? May I ask you who came who's house last night, Lawrence?"_

"_I came here", Lawrence says hectic and turns to me again, "because we had problems. Me and Allison. We had problems, so I came here. You shouldn't have let me do it. And now I'm going back to her, and I'm going to try to fix whatever can be fixed! I'm going to get my regular life back, and if that's going to happen, you can't be a part of it!"_

_He tries to turn around again, but I grab his arms. Force him to look me in the eyes. Force him to show me his vulnerability. _

"_So that's it?" I hiss. "Are you going to leave it at that? We've always been more than friends, but we've lived on your terms and pretend we weren't anything else. So now, when we've actually lived on my terms for _one fucking night, _you're just going away? You're wife, that you made miserable, is she more important to you than me?"_

"_You're looking for confirmation?" Lawrence blurts out and slaps my hands away. Like hell Allison would be more important to me than you. I…"_

_He silences abruptly. Takes a deep breath and starts again. _

"_She's my wife. We have a daughter. I'm not going to leave her just because I fucked a goddamn crack ponder." _

xxxxxxxxxxx

I hesitate. Fingers the razorblade lightly.

My life is pathetic. Jigsaw was right.

During this whole year that passed since I made that phone call to Lawrence, he's given me redress, just like imagined he would when I was on my own. But it wasn't a real redress. He was just someone to lean on.

And… I probably shouldn't count on seeing him again.

Ergo: I have nothing left to live for.

On that point I feel pretty calm when I raise the razorblade, move my thumb and cuts deeply into the place where my life is desperately beating.

Blood.

It beats out from the little wound.

It only takes a couple of seconds until the world disappears in a swirl of black and red.

Black because of the big, black ocean of despair that I'm trapped in.

Red because of Lawrence.

Red because of my lost, unhappy love for him.

That's what I'm thinking when I feel the bathroom floor hit me in the head.

_Lawrence. _

_For Lawrence. _


	7. My Adam

**A/N: HAHA! I left you on a cliffhanger in the last chapter, and for that I hope you can forgive me. Anyway, this chapter became angst and fluff in a sweet mixture. And by the way: Many thanks to my beloved reviewers. I hope you'll like this one, too. **

**A/N#2: Since Adam is practically on his deathbed because of that goddamn Lawrence, this chapter isn't written from his POV. It's written from… Well, everyone's POV. **

**6: My Adam**

_No. _

The words that floats screaming through Lawrence Gordon's mind are the same ones that rang in Adam's head that night about a year ago, when they kissed for the first time.

_No. _

_No. _

_Please, God, no. Please, God, let it be a dream. Let it be an awful dream, let it not be real, let me back into the real world, let me sit on my couch with my hand on Allison's thigh. _

_Because I can't do this. It's too much. Too much. I can't do it._

That's the only thing Lawrence thinks as he looks at his pager with widened eyes.

It's nothing uncommon that stands on his pager. But when he picked it up and looked at the little screen, it still felt like a big, heavy blow at his head. The information has slide into his brain like viscous, slimy glue, but now, it slips around in there, doesn't get a toehold.

Because the words on the pager are:

_Dr. Gordon, report to the second floor OR immediately. It's an emergency. _

_31 yr old male coding. Needs a sewn up artery, has at most thirty minutes left. _

_Tried to kill self with razor blade. _

It's not those words that send a beam of panic and guilt through Lawrence's body. All that, or similar things, have stood on his pager before.

What scares him, drowns him, kills him, is on the last line in black, square letters, like a digital judgment.

_Name: Adam Faulkner. _

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The whole time while he's running towards the OR, Lawrence tries to convince himself that it doesn't have to be _the _Adam, _his _Adam, it could be someone else. Sure there has to be tons of unhappy Adams out there.

But when he's washed his hands, put his latex gloves on and walked up to the operating table with a needle and a thread in his hand, he gets another shock. Even though he, on some level, knew what he was about to see.

It's Adam. His Adam.

It's his Adam, his Adam, his Adam, that's on the table. He's pale, he's sleeping, and a bandage is tied around his wrist that's caked with dried blood.

"Attempt of suicide," a nurse says and put an oxygen mask over Adam's face. "He collapsed in the elevator, but I think he'll be okay if we're quick."

_Sure as hell he'll be okay, _Lawrence thinks as he put the needle to Adam's wrist. _He's Adam. My Adam. He's a survivor, he's small, but he's tough and sarcastic, he made it out of Jigsaw's bathroom, he gets out of everything. _

Lawrence is glad he has a surgical mask. When he wears that, it's not too obvious that he's crying, that tiny pearls of glass turns up in his eyes and pours down his cheeks.

He's a good surgeon. And Adam has been negligent, the artery is not entirely cut open, it just has a small wound. Lawrence knows he can do this; he's done a number of more complicated operations.

But during the whole procedure, Lawrence is nauseous with nervousness. He tries to be professional, tries to keep his hands from shaking, doesn't want a whole surgical team to see his weakness. Plus, one flinch can lead to death, Adam's death, and he won't cause him more pain than he already has.

"Okay," Lawrence says after just an hour. "He won't die, I hope. Pass him up to medical, make sure he gets a room and page me when he's in stabile condition."

The nurse nods. Then she looks at Lawrence with a frown.

"Are you okay, Doctor Gordon?"

Lawrence clears his throat and hopes that the tears on his cheeks looks like sweat drips.

"Sure," he says and strips off his gloves. "It's just that it's awful when things like this happens."

The nurse nods again.

"Go and get yourself a cup of coffee," she then says kindly. "I'll page you, I promise."

Lawrence smiles stiffly, even though he knows she can't see it. Then he turns around and walks out the door.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Waiting.

Long. Way too long. Terrible.

That's what Lawrence thinks when he's sitting in the doctors lounge with his palms resting against each other in front of him.

Waiting is an awful invention. Waiting is the worst thing on the planet.

He startles when the cell phone starts to ring in his pocket. He picks it up and answers with a tired, broken voice.

"Lawrence Gordon."

"Hi, Larry," Allison annoyed voice says. "Where the hell are you? Weren't you off six hours ago? I've called you a bunch of times, but you haven't picked up!"

No, Allison, I wasn't off six hours ago. I was off twenty-four hours ago. I'm off today, but I've drifted around in the hospital just because I didn't want to be at home.

And you know what I'm doing right now? I'm waiting for a person I love to wake up from a temporary coma. Because the one I love isn't you anymore.

Or, yeah, I love you. But I'm not _in _love with you. Not anymore.

The one I love and am in love with is a man. Not just a man, he's also a _poor, drinking, smoking_ man with no hopes for the future or a reasonable apartment. The only thing he does is walking around all day and take pictures of people.

I love him. Not you.

Lawrence doesn't say any of those things, even though he wants to. The only thing he says is:

"I'm sorry, honey. I have so many interns, and they need help all the time. I don't know when I'll be home."

Allison sighs.

"Your daughter also wants you home soon."

"Me, too. Tell her I'm sorry and I'll be home as soon as I can."

She's quiet. Lawrence waits for her to consider if she should be mad at him or not.

"Fine," she says at last. "I'll see you sometime next year then, I guess."

Lawrence smiles weakly. How he can do that, God only knows.

"Probably. I love you."

"I love you, too."

He does. He loves her.

But not as much as he used to. And not in the same way.

But every thought of Allison goes away from Lawrence's mind when he hears his beeper beep frenetically. His hands shake so much when he lifts it off his belt that he almost drops it, but after a while, he gets it up to eye's height.

And when he reads it, he gets another whack at his head, but for totally different reasons than before.

_Adam Faulkner in stabile condition. Is in room 378. Probably awake. _

Lawrence gasps. The tears immediately start to well up in his eyes, but he doesn't have the time to cry. He must get up, and he must go to room 378, he must get to Adam and tell him.

Tell him that he loves him.

Lawrence will never, ever, in all of his future life, remember exactly how he got to Adam's room. He'll have vague memories of running down the hospital halls, of tears streaming down his face, of a sharp pain in the place where his real leg stops and his artificial foot begins,, but the only thing he'll have lodged in his mind forever, is how he finally stops outside a door with the numbers '378' on it.

_Adam…_

He slams the door open without wasting any time.

_Adam!_

Yes. Adam is here. His Adam.

Adam is lying in a bed in front of him. It's not the first time Lawrence sees Adam in a hospital bed. He's seen him lying in one with a grin on his face and say that he didn't take care of shit. But Lawrence has to forget about that now, he has to focus on the man in front of him that starts to flutter with his eyelids and groan softly.

Adam is waking up. Slowly and painfully, just like his whole life has been so far. But he's waking up.

"Adam," Lawrence says in a mixture of a sob and a relieved sigh.

"Whutysay?" Adam whispers blurrily and squints against him.

"Adam!"

It sounds like a prayer, and Lawrence is next to Adam in two quick steps.

"Adam, you idiot!" Lawrence sobs desperately and doesn't bother to hide his tears. "How the hell do you dare to cut our wrist like that?!"

"What?" Adam repeats and stares blankly at Lawrence.

He hasn't really gotten what happened yet. And his head feels heavy, a little smashed in a weird way. It hurts.

Lawrence just looks at him through a fog of tears. Right now, when he's to tired to be sarcastic and cursing, Adam seems so… Clean. So pure.

But that's not the Adam that Lawrence fell in love with. He fell in love with a man that was chained to a pipe, in a washed-down shirt and widened, frightened eyes.

And he loves the man that's in front of him now.

"You idiot!" Lawrence whispers lovingly. "You idiot!"

And then he bends down and wraps his arms around Adam.

Adam grunts, maybe out of pain, but Lawrence doesn't care. He just keeps whispering into Adams dark hair, his tears wetting them both.

"You little idiot. You stupid little fuck. You can't do that, you can't ever do that again!"

As if to a little kid.

"Okay, I get it," Adam says, being his wonderful, sarcastic self again. "Nice move, Larry. I'm having a fucking near-death experience, and the first thing you do when I get back is insulting me."

He starts to remember what happened now. He knows he should hate Lawrence, and that he actually did for a while. But now, he doesn't have the energy. He doesn't want to.

Now, all that exists is Lawrence, Lawrence's arms around him, Lawrence's whispers into his ear.

Adam doesn't have the energy to look back anymore. He's tired of it.

But he starts to cry, just in case, he cries with Lawrence, and they cling onto each other desperately.

"I'm so sorry, Adam," Lawrence sobs, he's words are muffled by the crying and he's shaking so much that Adam almost loses his grip on him. "All this was my fault, and I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"Yes, it was," Adam says, smiling through the tears. "It was your fault. But that doesn't matter."

"Things will be different now," Lawrence promise. "Everything will be different now. I'll never leave you, and… You can't leave me, Adam! You can't ever do that again!"

"I promise," Adam says. "Unless you run off to Allison as soon as you stop weeping like a baby."

Lawrence doesn't even seem to hear him. He just squeezes Adam's shoulders even tighter, whispers his promises into his ear.

"I'll never leave you again… I love you, and I'll never leave you again!"

**You don't miss the fluff until it's gone… And here it is! **

**Honestly, I have no idea how much information you can fit in a pager screen. But what the hell, if you obsessed about the details, this fic wouldn't exist. Adam positively died, remember? **

**And one more thing: If any of you had read my 'Pirates of the Caribbean'-fics, which I don't think you have, you know that I've used the phrase: 'But not as much as I used to. And not in the same way.' before. I just wanted you to know that I know that, so you don't accuse me of being spacey. (Well, I am. But there's no use pointing it out!)**

**Anyway, liked it? Please review! **


	8. Nightmare

**A/N: Once aga****in: YAY! It's true that you don't miss the fluff until it's gone, because I've missed this fic like crazy! And since the last chapter was fluffy, I couldn't resist making this one like that, too. Enjoy, fluff-lovers!**

**7: Nightmare**

Adam had almost forgot how it felt to be happy.

To feel pure, genuine, true happiness.

But now, he does. Not because the surroundings are that romantic or unique. He's just sitting in his hospital bed and plays cards with Lawrence.

But that's actually the very reason he's happy. Because it's so simple. So easy. Lawrence can just sit next to his bed, and they can talk and laugh like old friends. And that makes Adam happy.

Just sitting up caused him much effort. Lawrence begged him to the last to lie down, but Adam just scoffed. He doesn't like to be treated like a sick person, he's never really learned how to let himself get taken care of. The first time a nurse came in and asked him if she could do anything for him, Adam looked at her as like she was joking.

But now, Adam is sitting up.

Lawrence is happy for him, but Adam can tell he'd still worried. He looks less and less at his cards and more and more at Adam. Adam looks back, amused.

"What?"

Lawrence slowly opens his mouth. It's obvious that he fights the doctor-side of himself as long as he can, but then he finally says:

"Please, please, Adam, lie down."

Adam grins and takes a card from the deck.

"Drop it, Lawrence. I'm fine."

"But…" Lawrence says helplessly. "Can I just check your vitals? One last time?"

"Didn't you use your 'last time' fifteen minutes ago?"

"Shut up, kiddo," Lawrence says, smiling, and puts his cards on the table and gets up. "I _am _your doctor, and if I'm in here, no one asks me to do anything else."

"Aha," Adam says. "So I'm your excuse to get out of working?"

"_And," _Lawrence reminds him while he quickly strokes Adam's hair, "an excuse to get out of going back home."

Adam punches his arm, and Lawrence laughs.

"Come on, Adam. I'm staying here until you're well."

Adam leans into the bed and looks at Lawrence as he taps the tube that's connected to Adam's arm.

Lawrence is beautiful.

He thought pops up in his head, even though he tries to push it away. He doesn't want to think that way, he's not prepared to be so depending on someone that he actually thinks they're _beautiful._

But the thought lingers.

He's beautiful.

Adam wants to reach out and draw his forefinger over Lawrence's lips.

_Now you sound gay again, _the headvoice says.

_I _am _gay, _Adam answers.

And when he finally dares to think that, it feels like a big, heavy rock is lifted from his chest.

_I'm gay, _Adam thinks, smiling, and ignore the headvoice's wild protests. _I'm gay. I'm in love with a man. A married man. And I don't give a shit about what people think. _

Lawrence doesn't notice the thoughts that run through Adam's head, and thank God for that. He just looks at Adam, where he lies with half-closed eyes.

He's pale, his skin almost blends in with the sheets beneath him. He's lost a lot of blood, you don't need any tests to know that. Lawrence is grateful for the bag of blood that hangs on a metal device next to the bed.

He looks at his watch. It's 8:30 PM, and it's dark outside. It should be easy to convince Adam it's bedtime soon.

But after a glare at him, Lawrence realizes that he doesn't have to convince Adam to anything. His eyes are already closed and his face relaxed, even though his fast breathing tells Lawrence that he's not asleep quite yet.

Lawrence smiles weakly and gently shakes Adam's hand.

"Adam," he says quietly.

"What?" Adam says and startles.

Lawrence laughs.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to scare you. But you've lost a lot of blood, so I suggest that you go to sleep. But maybe you should eat something first."

With those words he glances over at the tray with untouched food that goes colder and colder, that stands on the movable table in front of Adam.

"I don't wanna," Adam mutters and Lawrence's smile gets wider.

Especially when he uses that expression and that tired grumpiness, Adam sound like a sleepy child.

Lawrence picks up the fork, puts some mashed potatoes on it and slowly moves it against Adam's lips.

"Heeeeeere comes the little train…" He says playfully and tries to push the food into his mouth.

Adam giggles tiredly and rolls his eyes, but he doubtfully open his mouth and lets Lawrence feed him.

"What a _good _boy you are," he says, teasing.

"Shut up," Adam grumbles with a small smile and swallows the mashed potatoes.

Lawrence chuckles, but every trace of a smile goes away when his eyes accidentally wander over Adam's wrist.

The bandage is still dark red with dried blood. And Lawrence gets tears in his eyes again when the thought that's been haunting him for the last twenty-four hours comes back.

_He could have died. _

_I love him, I fucking love that little moron, and he could have died. Because of me. _

Adam's smile has faded away, too. He follows Lawrence's gaze down to the bandage, but he doesn't say anything, and Lawrence is very thankful for that.

"Adam," Lawrence says slowly.

Adam looks up at him.

"Adam," Lawrence repeats. "Promise me… This thing, too."

He pauses before he says in a trembling voice:

"You can't _ever_ scare me like that again."

Adam smiles innocently.

"Promise."

Lawrence reaches out his hand and caresses Adam's cheek. Adam looks a little confused over the sudden gentleness, but it doesn't take long for his smile to return.

"You want me to stay with you tonight?"

"Yeah," Adam says, determined. "But don't try to pull any tricks on me. You shouldn't take advantage of a drunken girl. Or girls that's high on morphine."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam and Lawrence are lying pressed together on Adam's tiny hospital bed.

If Adam had discovered that he was gay a little sooner, and had been with someone other than Lawrence, he had probably wanted to sleep alone. If he'd slept with someone else, the dependence had grown bigger, the _love _had grown bigger, and just the idea of that had given Adam chills.

But now, he's happy to sleep with Lawrence.

He's happy to be pressed up against Lawrence, with their legs entwined, and his arms around Adam's waist.

Because he knows that he can't be more depending. He can't get more in love. And then he might as well live out the whole damn thing all the way.

Everything is as cozy as possible, really.

But not inside of Adam's head. Because no matter how much he loves Lawrence, not even love can cure nightmares.

And tonight, an old nightmare returns.

A nightmare from the night when he woke up with one single sentence lying as a horrified whisper on his lips.

_I would never lie to you. _

But this nightmare isn't exactly like that one.

This time, he doesn't lie in Lawrence's arms when the doll comes towards him.

He's lying on the bathroom floor, that awful, awful bathroom floor, and he's all alone.

No one is there.

No one can protect him.

And the doll doesn't walk towards him.

It walks towards Lawrence, that all the sudden is next to him, and it raises its knife and stabs.

It stabs and it stabs and it stabs.

It stabs until Lawrence's blood leaves grotesque paintings over Adam's face.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence wakes up from the movement next to him.

All the sudden, he feels the thin body in his arms squirm, kick his legs and whimper softly.

Lawrence quickly sits up. He's not used to this, he's been sleeping with Allison for the past ten years, and she's so still in her sleep that it's like sharing bed with a robot. But now he has to sit up and look at Adam with a light frown.

Adam's shifting gets wilder by the second, he writhes and kicks and punches out into the open air.

It isn't until he starts to moan and grunt that Lawrence understands.

_Nightmare… _

He gets out of the bed, bends down over Adam and tries to get a grip on his wrists.

"Adam," he says firmly, tries to stay calm even though a minor panic starts to build up inside of him.

"No," Adam says in a plagued voice and punches at him. "Don't."

For a moment Lawrence thinks Adam is talking to him, but then he realizes that he's talking in his sleep.

"Adam! Wake up!"

"NO!" Adam screams as tears start seeping out from under his closed eyelids. "NOT… LAWRENCE!"

The hearing of his own name hits Lawrence like a blow in the gut, and he almost gets teary again himself and tries to grab Adam's shoulders.

_Please, don't let me be the one that hurts him. _

"NOT… LAWRENCE!" Adam keeps screaming, with all his fear written across his face. "NOT LAWRENCE! DON'T! DON'T! DON'T! LAWRENCE!"

"Adam!" Lawrence repeats. "Wake up!"

"LAWRENCE! LAWRENCE! NO… LAWRENCE!"

And then he wakes up, panting.

For a second, he looks around, his eyes wide, before he sees Lawrence next to his bed.

Adam stares at him, and his eyes are still shining.

"It was a nightmare," Lawrence says and tries to sound soothing as he strokes Adam's hair with a shaky hand. "Just a nightmare, Adam."

Adam doesn't even seem to hear him. The corners of his mouth moves down, like on a baby, and he buries his face in his pillow.

He doesn't want Lawrence to see him cry. But his shaking shoulders and muffled sobs reveals him way too easily.

Lawrence crawls down next to Adam, strokes his hair, that's soaking with cold sweat, again.

"Ssh, Adam," he mumbles.

Adam's shoulders continue to shake, but Lawrence can still feel him loosen up a little.

"Ssh… Adaam, it's okay. It's okay. Don't cry…"

**I just **_**had **_**to have a little angst in the end. But this isn't the final chapter, even though the next one might be. Review and brighten my day, please! **


	9. Epilogue: I'll Be Okay

**A/N: If ****there's Halloween, there must be Saw. And if there's Christmas, there must be another chapter of I'll be okay! The **_**last**_** one, actually! Go nuts!**

**Epilogue: I'll Be Okay**

If someone had climbed up a latter, went up to Adam Faulkner's apartment and looked through a window before today, you know what they had seen?

They'd seen Adam, sitting on a couch. Alone. He would probably stare into the TV without actually noticing it. He'd probably drink beer.

But if you'd done it on the fourth of October, 2005, you'd seen Adam, sitting on his couch, without even looking at the TV. And he wouldn't be alone.

He'd be there with Lawrence, his best friend, his _only _friend, and they would laugh and drink and talk to each other.

And then, if you would stay outside the window for a little bit longer, you would see that Lawrence laid a hand on Adam's neck and kissed him.

It's been a year since then.

Now, Adam is back from the hospital. He's on his couch again, but he doesn't hold a beer, since he can't drink until it's been a month from the surgery.

And he's not alone.

Lawrence is with him, and _he_ has a beer, which Adam shoots longing looks to. The TV is on in front of them, but neither one of them even bothers to _pretend_ to pay attention to it. Lawrence is wearing a dirty shirt and looks firmly at his beer, and Adam is next to him, with a naked torso and sweat pants. You can see the faded bullet scar on his right shoulder.

They don't look like much to the rest of the world. If you didn't know anything that's happened to them, you wouldn't even think they were friends. They don't even dare to look at each other.

But the reason to that isn't what one might think it is.

The reason they don't dare to look at each other is that they both, with a mixture of joy and a small, shrieking terror, have realized that they're not alone, and that they probably never will be again.

Lawrence is the first one to manage to lift his eyes and look at the man on his right. He even manages to lift his hand and play with the strands of hair in the back of Adam's neck.

Adam winces, blushes briefly at his touch.

"Relax," Lawrence mumbles. "What, exactly, do you think I'll do to hurt you?"

Adam doesn't answer. Lawrence sees how he sits all tensed for just a second, before a small smile creeps up onto his lips and he closes his eyes for a while, drinks in the touch of the man that he, no matter how awful it is, loves.

He loves Lawrence. And Lawrence loves him.

They've gone through so much suffering to reach each other, but now when they finally have, neither one of them would want to be anywhere else.

All the sudden, Lawrence hears a tiny voice in his mind. It sounds like Adam's headvoice, it's cold and degrading, and Lawrence can't help but listen when it says:

_Is this it, doctor? Is this what you left Allison for?_

Lawrence doesn't answer. He just keeps looking at Adam. The headvoice scoffs and continues.

_For the love of God, Lawrence, he's a _child! _He's a goddamn _boy! _Are you going to risk you're social status, are you going to give up you're marriage? For _him?

Lawrence just has to think for a second before he answers.

_Yes. This is it. This boy, this Adam, is everything I need. Because I love him. _

The headvoice has a point, though. Especially when he's next to well-built, fully-grown Lawrence, it's obvious how… _Small _Adam is.

Yes. He's small. He's small and short and skinny. And he has the face of a boy. A boy that's not quite ready to grow up yet.

But he still has to.

He has to leave the childhood behind if he's going to manage this. Manage to have a relationship with another man.

But that doesn't feel too hard. The only thing he has to leave is another life, an awful life. A life that's black and filled with pain, a life that's stained with blood and tears. And he can do that.

"Adam," Lawrence says.

"Mm?" Adam answers.

Lawrence was going to tell him that he loves him. That he was thinking of killing himself, too, when he thought Adam was going to die. That he would split up with Allison again and again if it meant that he and Adam were never going to part.

But why would he say that now? He has a whole life, a whole new, clean, white lifetime that's untouched by Jigsaw and pain, to say it.

There's still time. Time for redress. Time to say what they want to say to each other.

So instead of saying what he planned, Lawrence just says:

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Adam says plainly. "I'm okay."

But then Lawrence moves his hand down to Adam's wrist, where the bandages still are, dark red and stiff, like painful memories, and Adam realize that he's lying.

"No," he changes his mind when Lawrence's fingertips brush over his bandages. "I'm not okay. But…"

He pauses and moves his gaze to Lawrence.

When Adam looks into his blue orbs, he hears his own screaming voice inside his head.

"_We're going to be okay?"_

"_I would never lie to you."_

"I'll _be_ okay," Adam says, and a relieved smile spreads across Lawrence's face.

Then he cups Adam's cheek and kisses him.

During years, during forever, neither Adam nor Lawrence were okay.

But now they have each other. And all the sudden they both know, that as long as they can sit on a couch and kiss, they will both be okay for the rest of their lives.

**There's the whole fic! (sob) I just had to make a happy ending. Please review! And many thanks to my reviewers this far! (nicoleb, Audra Markwell, Jess-n-S, Sawfreak21, xreadysetcrashx, cheetana and Aloria-Catalonia: I love you all very dearly.) **


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